The Eagle of the Star
by Liregon
Summary: Aragorn's adventures under guise as Thorongil while serving Thengel and Ecthelion, and how he became the great captain of men. Chapt 8 up! Please Read and Review!
1. Prologue: The Riders

Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, I would be a millionaire by now, and have every collectible imaginable, and have the book too of which I don't.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil, my apologies for any discrepancies and for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity.

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- The Eagle of the Star – 

Prologue   
-Near the borders of Rohan-

The stranger watched warily from the shadows, pulling his travel-stained cloak tightly around him to combat the cold as he watched the orc camp that was less than five full fathoms away, his keen grey eyes taking in every single detail. Those foul creatures had been in the vicinity for a few days now, and covering large areas of land as they passed. It seemed that they were searching for something, though he knew not what, though he was confident he would soon. However, at the moment, all that he knew was that they had probably come from Dol Guldur, perhaps in search of the Ruling Ring again, since Sauron had returned to power. Shifting slowly and as silently as he could in the bushes that concealed him, he tried as best to make himself comfortable for another long night ahead.

The night was silent, almost too silent for his liking, in fact. There seemed to be neither any calls of various nocturnal birds nor the noisy clicking noises of the insects around. It seemed as if they were afraid of another presence, probably those of the orcs', but it seemed impossible. He remembered hearing the thundering thuds of metal-shod hoofs striking the ground not but one and half-hour ago, and had passed them off as wild horses. But now, it seemed suspicious that horses would wander so far away from Edoras.

_Could it be...?_

He shook his head silently, and berated himself for thinking so foolishly. It could not be the legendary Rohirrim that he had read so avidly about in the massive library of the House of Elrond. The Riders of Rohan that was basically the only defence Rohan had and would ever needed, as it seemed, in times of attack. He did not believe that the Riders were still around...

The piercing call of an owl brought him back to the present. It seemed rather close, he thought as he glanced warily around him. And it sounded vaguely human too.

Before he had even the chance of piecing the various puzzles together, battle cries rang in the silence of the night, and a little more than a score of men on horseback appeared from their 'hiding' place on the other side of the clearing, broadswords held firmly in their hands.

They had the element of surprise and speed on the orcs, of which many were cut down instantly halfway through their meal of raw meat. But the slight advantage seemed to wear off quickly, as the orcs had their weapons on them. Instead, the disadvantages of the Riders' being on horseback allowed the orcs to just hack the legs off any steed, and therefore bring its owner down to his death by trampling or by a rusty blade.

Seizing his chance, the stranger rose from his hiding place and joined in the skirmish. His elven sword glittered menacingly in the pale moonlight; his sword-fighting skills –honed by hours of practice –were unmatched and the orcs were felled by the handfuls under his blade. His actions were almost graceful as he swung his blade, which looked like it had been naught but a deadly extension to his arm.

Turning around, he barely managed to prevent a Rider from getting killed by a particularly vicious orc. The man lay on the ground, gasping for air, surprised from his near brush with death as the stranger held out his hand to help him up, before rejoining the battle. It seemed as if with his addition into the fray, the tide had turned and were against the orcs, who now fought helplessly against the Riders and were retreating swiftly. The twisted creatures finally realised the futility of the battle and turned tail, their numbers significantly smaller as compared to the original company.

He stood in the middle of the clearing, sword held at rest and with black orc blood dripping steadily off it as he immersed himself in the exhilaration and adrenaline that had possessed him through the fight. Returning to the present, he looked around him, and saw fallen bodies all about. Most were that of the orcs, but there were four bodies belonging to those of Riders. Their helms had been knocked askew, arterial blood gushing unhindered out of sword wounds. It was also painfully obvious that frightened horses, theirs perhaps, had trampled on them from the numerous dents in the armour, and he fervently hoped that it occurred after their deaths. After almost six years out in the Wild, he had still yet to come to terms with the death of warriors that fought for peace on their territory, and the countless women made widows; their children made fatherless.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind, he whipped around, sword at ready, in case an orc had somehow managed to slip past or kill the other Riders nearby that were either soothing the horses, or examining the dead. His mind faintly registered the face as that of the man he had rescued as he bent to wipe his sword on an orc's flimsy armour before sheathing it. The man was rather well built, with sandy blond hair that grew around a chiselled yet weathered face. His brows were almost knitted together in cautious suspicion of the stranger; his mouth set in a hard line.

"Many thanks for saving me from the grasp of Death, stranger. I would treat you more as a friend and ally in better circumstances, but I know not of whom you are, nor whence you hail from."

The stranger seemed to ponder on his response for a moment before answering with carefully chosen words, "You need not know who I am, nor the place of my birth, but only that you can trust me. I am neither spy nor ally of Sauron, far from it. I work against him, and in that, hope to bring peace to this place. But if you insist, my name is Thorongil."

The man looked at the stranger, who had so strangely called himself Thorongil, and spotted the Silver Star pinned on to the shoulder of his cloak, and understanding. "Eagle of the Star," he murmured softly to himself, though the stranger could hear him. Then, looking at the stranger in the eye again he spoke, "It seems that we are joined in the same cause. My name is Eothir, and I'm the Captain of the Rohirrim."

The stranger acknowledged the man's brief introduction with a slight, barely discernable nod, before lapsing back into his thoughts again, his mind going over the Captain's words, before making his decision.

"Take me to your King."

_Tbc..._

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A/N: I know, I know, the battle scenes lack action. I promise to try to spruce the next battle up more. And you could do me a HUGE favour if you could just review! Hugs in advance. 


	2. 1: Practices Aplenty

Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, I would be a millionaire by now, and have every collectible imaginable, and have the book too of which I don't own either. I'll just be content with owning the names of those not found in the books a.k.a. those I named.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity, and forgetting that Eomund was not Thengel's son, and was probably not even born yet when Aragorn went to Rohan. Therefore, since none know the name of Eomund's father, I just decided to name him Eothir of Eastfold. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

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–The Eagle of the Star –

Chapter 1

-One week later-

Aragorn sat near one of the many wooden tables that filled the Golden Hall of Meduseld, smoking his pipe –a habit that he had gotten from Gandalf through their travels. The week had passed without incident, and without any orc-sightings in the country, of which he was glad for, though it would not last for long. He had been accepted into Rohan easily enough, for both Thengel and Eothir trusted him, and the people therefore respected their decision to let him stay. But there were some who still mistrusted him, casting him suspicious looks when they thought he was not looking. They could be forgiven though, for after 6 years in the Wild, he hardly looked the fresh-faced, determined youth who had set out from Rivendell to find his place in the world.

A loud cheer rose from the crowd of Riders' gathered around the center of the hall, watching their fellow fighters in their daily sword-fighting practice that usually turned into a one-on-one competition of sort, of which he had been lucky enough to avoid being dragged into. Looking through the gaps in the spectators, it was apparent that Hinad, Third Marshal of the Mark had 'defeated' a new Rider, whose name Aragorn had no inking of, although he had been introduced to each and every one of them once they had reached Edoras. Gold changed hands swiftly as others lamented their losses; though no doubt they would get it back later.

The slightly slurred voice was heard a moment later as he climbed onto a bench to make himself heard, "And now, we shall invite Thorongil to come and compete, shall we not?"

Aragorn started getting up as soon as he heard his alias called, hoping that he could get away fast enough before he was found. It seemed as though the numerous 'preachings' that his foster brothers had reminded him again and again while in Rivendell not to show off his skills unnecessarily had paid off, he though wryly. Besides, he would rather stay behind the scenes, and not announcing to Sauron that the Heir of Isildur was indeed still alive and well.

By the time he had gotten out of his seat, it had already seemed too late to make his getaway. Théoden, the nine-year old son of Thengel, had already spotted him and was swiftly making his way towards him, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

Tugging lightly on Aragorn's sleeve, he gave his most mournful look, "please, Thorongil sir, please go compete, we have been waiting all week for you to practice with us. Besides, you have to prepare for upcoming battles."

Grimacing slightly, Aragorn relented with a sigh.

"Just this once," he told the over-eager young boy, who had already started leading him into the middle of the hall where Hinad was waiting.

The crowd launched into a cheer when he entered to rough circle made by the gathered spectators, and bets were cast anew –many betting against the stranger who had so mysteriously entered their midst a week ago.

With a slight tinge of hesitation, Aragorn unsheathed his sword; its elven make inciting many whispers among the onlookers. Both men crossed their swords and went into their battle stance. Hinad looked confident of defeating the newcomer, his teeth showing in a cocky grin, standing as though relaxed; though Aragorn could see that he was tensed up. At a signal from Eothir, the fight began.

Both fighters circled each other, sizing the other up. Aragorn waited for his opponent to make his first move, and perhaps, at the same time, make a mistake. He need not have to wait long, for a second later, a thrust came, of which he easily blocked. Though he had used minimal strength, Hinad stumbled slightly, being off-balance due to his lack of feet movement. Seeing his opportunity while Hinad regained his balance, Aragorn quickly launched into a series of attack maneuvers that the former struggled to defend himself from. Aragorn's sword sang as it whistled and cut through the air in a blur as Hinad was quickly forced to lose ground, his sword held up in a futile attempt to hold the onslaught back. In a matter of less than a minute, Aragorn had his sword at his opponent's throat, while the latter had dropped his sword in defeat.

Curses ran through the crowd like wildfire as money was reluctantly passed to their fellow friends who had betted for Thorongil, and won a huge sum of gold. Aragorn stood in the middle of it all, looking around him, and feeling the blood rushing through his body.

"Is there no one else?" he asked the Riders', who looked at themselves, before scrambling and jostling to be the first to get into the circle.

In the end, Aragorn ended up facing four Riders', each of them ready of a friendly fight. He fought to hide a grin from emerging on his face. Wasn't this the same as when Elladan and Elrohir used to rope in both Erestor and Lindir and all four would gang up against him, while Glorfindel shouted instructions from the sidelines? Although there was none currently to instruct him in what to do, he had long memorised the strategy to dispatch them, and soon all four Riders' were taken care of; going out of the circle when smiles on their faces made by the money gained by betting against themselves.

Eothir, having sobered up some, came next into the circle, and two of the best fighters in the country faced each other in mock fight. Both matched the other evenly, matching each other thrust for thrust, parry for parry, all the while not letting the other gain even an inch of ground. However, being older, the Captain was unable to withstand the stamina of the younger man, and was soon retreating slowly.

At the moment, the great doors were thrown open by the Doorwards, and a disheveled young woman stumbled in, panting heavily, the hem of her skirt looking as though it had been singed by fire.

_Tbc..._

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A/N: Whee! A cliffhanger! Though I'm sure you could guess what would happen, couldn't you? Reviews will be kindly appreciated... and make me produce a quicker update, possibly on Friday. All flames will be used to burn all my school worksheets from this year in a yearly ritual, since I've unfortunately run out of matches. :P 

Thanks to all who reviewed! I hope this update is fast enough!


	3. 2: Brianne

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'. Oh, and the Riders have their 'fun' at night.

Sorry for the late update, was having a temporary brain dead syndrome aka writer's block.

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–The Eagle of the Star –

Chapter 2

The cheers dwindled rapidly as everyone turned to stare at the woman, and slowly separated to form a pathway that lend to the throne where Thengel awaited. She walked quickly past them, occasionally stumbling in her haste, and seemed to notice no one save the King, sitting on the throne at the end of her 'path'.

As soon as she reached the throne she threw herself onto the floor and sobbed openly. Taking in huge gulps of air as she fought for control over her unending tears, while the crowd looked upon her in a mixture of pity and curiousity. Before long, murmurs were running through the crowd, with each having his own theory on what had happened.

Their curiousity was soon satisfied, for after a while, the girl started speaking –abeit in a halting speech caused by her crying –in such a soft voice that many strained to hear her words.

"Forgive me for intruding in this manner, milord! Orcs have invaded my village. They came at dusk, and caught many of us unawares, for it was near dinner, and most families were supping. They had already raided almost a quarter of the whole village before the warning bell was tolled-," the girl paused, and tried to contain her emotions, before continuing on with the story, "the men got ready to fight them, including my father, and my brothers. But we had peace since we could remember, and though the men knew how to fight and had weapons, the orcs were bigger and well armoured..." the girl trailed off and swallowed nervously.

Thengel lapsed into silence while he thought about her words, before addressing the girl kindly, "What is your name, child, and why were you sent here instead of a messenger?"

"My name is Brianne, daughter of Ailder, the chief of the village. My father sent me here on his best horse to ask for help, as all the men were to be involved in the fighting, including the messenger. I rode here as fast as Cirion could run. The last time I looked back, the men were grossly outnumbered," she managed to choke out before bursting into tears again.

"How long did it take you to get here?" Eothir's loud voice rose over the din. "And what happened to the women and children?"

"It took me almost 10 minutes to get here, while Cirion was running at his fastest. I remembered Father telling all the men to keep their women, though they could fight, and children in the houses, and to lock it well, in case–"

"Eothir, please, but we have no time for any form of interrogation right now. Men are dying! We have to do what we can to help them. And swiftly!"

Eothir took his gaze off Brianne, and turned to Aragorn, who was standing beside him, looking at him with his grey eyes, stern and unflinching. The two men stared at each other for a beat, before Eothir finally turned away and addressed the King,

"By your leave, milord, we have to do our duty now."

Without waiting for Thengel's nod of consent, he bowed, and ushered the Riders out of Meduseld, and towards the stables.

"Please sir, let me come with you."

Eothir turned back to look at the speaker, and found himself almost coming face to face with an insistent Brianne. Sighing at the delay he had not expected to encounter, Eothir lay a calloused hand on her shoulder, "Brianne, for both our sake and yours, stay here, and let the healers attend to you. We will bring the survivors back."

The young woman dared not ask what they would do with the dead, but instead, backed away from the Captain as though scorned, hope of seeing her family for the last time gone in her eyes like a candle in the wind.

Théoden, seeing his chance went up and tapped on the Captain's lower arm, his young face shining with hope and eagerness, "Sir, could you take me with you? I promise I will stick by you at all times! I wouldn't be a hindrance! My tenth birthday would be in 8 months; I'm old enough! Please sir!"

Eothir looked down at the young boy and ruffled his hair, "sorry, child, but you are _still_ too young. Try again in 8 years alright?"

And with that, he walked out of the doors, with the rest of the Riders' following him. Aragorn hung back, and cast a glance at Brianne. The poor girl looked so forlorn and forsaken that his heart wept for her losses. Making up his mind, he walked up to her, and took her hand, leading her out of the Hall, and following the Riders.

The horsemen had their horses tacked up and ready in record time, cultivated by long years of practice. Aragorn silently thanked the twins for the grueling time trials they had put him through all those years ago, and the saddle that was not within arms' reach compared to where he was currently. Slowly they led their horses out of their stalls, with the horses whinnying in what Aragorn perceived as joy after being cooped up for too long. It was then that Eothir noticed Brianne standing outside, trying her best to look inconspicuous.

"What are you doing here?"

The girl froze, and her eyes searching desperately through the Riders for Aragorn's face, though she could have spared the effort.

"I brought her here."

"Why? She needs to be attended to!"

"It's her family and friends out there! Don't you think she deserves one last chance to meet them again? And to pay her respects to the dead, since she knew them while they were living?"

"Her steed –"

"Cirion," Brianne supplied helpfully.

"Her steed Cirion is being rested. The girl has no horse to bear her there."

"Tamuríl will be able to bear two humans and still be competent."

Eothir hesitated for a while, before relenting. "Make sure she's near you all the time, Thorongil. I'm not about the take the blame for her death."

He mounted his horse and the rest of the Rohirrim followed, while Aragorn helped Brianne onto Tamuríl –unnecessary as it was –to sit in front of him. His elven steed was rapidly catching up with the rest, and the company quickly rode like the wind towards the plume of grey smoke that could be seen rising in the distance...

_Tbc..._

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Note:

Brianne's horse is named after the Steward of Gondor of the same name that gave to Eorl the land of Rohan.

When Aragorn went abroad, he brought Tamuríl along with him. I should have added her earlier, but forgotten to. Anyway, in the prologue, she was supposed to be hidden in the bushes with Aragorn.

And yeah, Eothir's rather OOC in this chappie.

Reviews please! And the thing about flames being used to burn my worksheets still applies. Thanks to all who reviewed! wene, you're NOT going to capsize me thank you very much.


	4. 3: Fighting with Orcs

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

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–The Eagle of the Star –   
Chapter 3

They reached the village situated near the Nimrais in due time, and though Rohan steeds were swift, they were unable to match with the elven steed's pace. As they neared the village, the smell of burning wood and the overwhelming stench of blood reached them, almost causing Brianne to blanch.

Aragorn, having reached a few moments earlier, led Tamuríl to one of the many trees that surrounded the east of the village not but a few fathoms from the first hut. After cautioning Brianne to stay on his steed and instructing Tamuríl to flee if any orc came for them, left to join the other Riders.

It seemed as though they had already arrived too late, for many corpses littered the grassy ground; and the human bodies were significantly more than those of the Orcs, though some still showed signs of life. The huts had been broken into, and the women and children missing. But there was no sign of their quarry, and the air was suspiciously still.

Frowning, Aragorn lay down onto the ground, while ignoring the curious stares of the Rohirrim, who must have been thinking him mad. He strained his ears for any sign of the thudding of iron shod feet upon the ground that would make vibrations, but all was still. Irritated at not finding any sign of them, he got up, trying to figure out the various puzzles of the riddle in his mind.

"Well," Eothir spoke, sheathing his sword, "since we are too late to kill any orcs, the least we can do for them" –he indicated the dead bodies –"is to give them a decent burial. And perhaps try–" He was cut off as Aragorn raised his palm, and motioned all to be silent.

"I heard something, a muffled scream perhaps," he mouthed, and got understanding nods from the rest. They must have stood stock still for a minute or two before they heard it again. But this time it was louder and clearer. It hung in the air for a few seconds, piercing and shrill, and was suddenly cut off.

Unsheathing his sword again, Eothir slowly walked to the gaping opening of a cave leading into the mountains, where the scream had originated. The rest followed closely behind, eager for battle.

"It could be a trap."

Eothir turned back and looked at Aragorn, some measure of confusion in his eyes, while patiently waiting for the latter to continue, as were the others.

"They could mean to draw us into the cave to seek their hideaway, to draw us to search the many caves that would branch off from this, while they cut off all escape for us by blocking this entrance. We will be forced to fight our way out, therefore wasting many lives. But we may not be able to get past them, for there is a large number of them. At least, large enough to slaughter almost all the males."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"We should be split into two groups. One will seek for the orcs, while the others hide around the entrance and battle with the orcs that come to block the opening."

The idea was quickly accepted and the Riders swiftly split into two groups. Eothir, confident in the newcomer's skill with his surroundings and with his blade, appointed Aragorn to lead his group into the mountains, while he stayed behind and made sure that the coast was clear.

Aragorn slowly led them into the pitch-dark cave, with the only thing allowing them to see was a hastily made torch. The screams had died down, and they could only hear faint cries that sounded further away each time they were uttered.

Not but one and half furlong into the cave, the 'route' branched out into three separate caves. As the enclosed space made the cries echo, it was impossible to pinpoint the exact location on the orcs. The Riders murmured among themselves as they tried to figure out which way to go next. It was folly to split up into three smaller groups, for if the orcs were many, they would be immediately overpowered, and the others would not know it.

Aragorn walked a few steps into each of the various caves and stood there, testing the air for the whiff of the orc stench. At last, having made up his mind, he directed the astonished Riders' into the cavern on their left. The air was stuffy and close in the cave, and before long, even the worse of noses would have easily detected the smell of the orcs. Aragorn allowed himself a small smile, seeing that his years with the Rangers had done him some good after all.

After a few more turns and forks, they could finally hear the cries clearly, and knew that they were not far away from the orcs. Tightening their grip on their swords, they rounded the final bend, and found themselves coming face to face with several orcs on the lookout, who were quickly dispatched of before they could even sound the alarm.

Walking on, they found themselves at the opening to a huge space in the cave, with the moonlight pouring in from an opening near the top. Many Riders, Aragorn included, turned away and closed their eyes in disgust when they figured out what had caused the cries.

All around the area, it seemed as though a mass rape had taken place.

Neither the virgins nor the wives, nor the maidens, the mothers or the old were left untouched. They were lying around the room, in various states of undress; their faces contorted in extreme pain and humiliation as the orcs forced their mutilated selves on them.

The children huddled in a corner of the cavern, trying their best to keep their eyes closed, and not be forced to look at the agony their kin was undergoing. However every time eyes were shut in fright, the child was immediately shaken and beaten by another orc standing nearby, salivating as he waited for his turn.

It was onto this sorry scene that the Riders burst into, their war cries echoing in the massive cavern. They caught the orcs unawares for the second time in a week, and many of those who were upon the women were quickly slaughtered, while the women were quickly helped up and brought to where the children were. It seemed to be quick knife-work as the orcs were killed one by one.

That was, until a fresh group emerged from another cave.

The tide turned against the Riders, as they fought valiantly to stem the black tide that was rapidly increasing, and at the same time, protect the captives. Aragorn faintly wondered whether the orcs were in the cavern from the start or if Eothir's group had been defeated.

Even as the number of orcs dwindled, so did those of the Riders' ranks, till it was clear that the Riders were truly and well trapped in the cavern. Just as they were about to give up hope and surrender, Eothir and about half of his group burst through the first opening; with those armed with bow and arrows quickly felling many of the black tide.

Seeing that they could either flee or die at the hands of the Riders, the orcs quickly gave up and ran away though the second opening, their iron-shod feet clanging upon rock. At Eothir's command, the Riders that started to follow them turned back and helped with the women and children.

By lending their cloaks to the women as a mean to protect their decency, they quickly ushered the captives out of the caves, with some Riders carrying the bodies of their fallen comrades back out.

It was almost an hour since they had entered the cave when they finally exited its depths, and the first things that greeted them were the bodies of the orcs that Eothir's group had slew, before coming to their aid.

Some quickly tended to the wounds of the injured villagers using what medical supplies they could find in the ransacked huts that escaped fire, while the others stacked the orc bodies for burning, and the bodies of the men for burial.

Aragorn stood in the midst of things, helping out when he could, yet he could not fight away the nagging feeling in his mind that something was wrong. Following on his instinct, he turned back to the tree where he had tied Tamuríl to, but there was no sign of either steed or passenger. Trying his best to keep calm, he whistled into the air, and was rewarded by hoofbeats drawing closer. Yet when his steed arrived, the saddle was empty. Slowly, she walked up to her owner and nuzzled his neck, whinnying softly.

"Where's Brianne?!"

_Tbc..._

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Sorry for the late update! Anyway, please review! All flames will be used to burn all my school worksheets from this year in a yearly ritual, since I've unfortunately run out of matches. 


	5. 4: Capture!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

Sorry for the late update, which was lengthened bythe upgrading. And this chapter is going to be a little 'R'.

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–The Eagle of the Star – 

Chapter 4

All work stopped as everyone turned to look at him, and the men tried to remember when they had seen her last. Finally, Eothir spoke,

"Tamuríl fled with her upon seeing the orcs, part of your instruction perhaps, but I remembered seeing her fighting against the orcs with us later, using a blade that I supposed was from one of the dead men. When battle ended, she was not with us anymore, and we thought that she had gone to find your horse."

Aragorn fought to keep his breath steadily, and to prevent from launching himself at Eothir and shaking him till he realised his mistake of not helping to look out for her.

"Captain! I found something!" Hinad shouted from his position at the edge of the trees, holding a torch.

When Aragorn reached there, Eothir slowly turned to him, "Thorongil, I think you have just found your answer."

Embedded in the soil, and clearly visible in the bright moonlight, were a set of orc prints, and several smaller footprints that belonged to a woman.

And lying in the grass not far away, was a blade stained with blood.

"Brianne," Aragorn uttered, drawing his breath sharply before turning to Eothir, "please, we have to safe her!"

Eothir shook his head slowly, "the men are tired, and we have to take care of this" –he swept his hand over the village and the various dead bodies lying in messy piles, and the pits dug around the village to accommodate the dead.

"You seen what they did to the women down in that cave! Brianne will be suffering the same under their hands!"

A beat passed in the village, and the men looked at the two men, waiting for their decision.

Finally, Aragorn broke the strained silence between the two men, "I'm not asking for all the men to help me. But just a handful or so. The orcs that got away could not be that many, considering the number we had already slew."

Eothir considered this proposition for a while, and nodded his head, before calling out the names of his best warriors to aid him. Aragorn looked at his fellow comrades –a predatory gleam in his eyes that belied his calm exterior –as he motioned for them to follow him into the trees, but was stopped by a hand –Eothir's hand to be exact– on his shoulder.

"For Valar's sake Thorongil! The men need to rest! And I know you have to too. We continue our activities tomorrow, and you," he said, looking rather pointedly at Aragorn, "can start hunting the orcs at dawn tomorrow. If you wish to. But now, please, humor me and have some food and rest. The orcs fear sunlight. You know that. And you will be able to catch up come tomorrow."

Aragorn found himself nodding numbly at the words, and fought back an urge to tell the Marshal that they may already be too late come tomorrow. Though he had argued that he was not tired, and the spirit willing, the flesh was not, for he fell asleep the moment his head touched the ground.

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Brianne was feeling sore all over her body, especially in her abdominal area and heels, since the orc was not too gentlemanly in flinging her over his shoulder and prior to that, was dragged for Valar knew how far. And now, he was grabbing her waist tightly in his none-too-gentle grip, and she could already feel angry, vivid bruises appearing in that area, not to mention the fact that she was thumping against his shoulder with every step he took. The orcs made good pace in the night, with only the light of the moon to help them. Their movement, though hard as they trampled every blade of grass in the way, was rather rhythmic, and she felt herself being lulled to sleep as she watched the ground rush past in a greenish-brown blur.

Then again, that could be due to her multiple wounds.

Closing her eyes, she silently cursed herself for listening to that urge to go into battle. Why did she have to leave Tamuríl? She could have easily stayed on the horse's back, and waited for Thorongil's call to return. Then nothing would have happened to her! And she would not be in this forsaken situation. She repressed a silent shudder as she remembered all those things her parents had told her about women who get abducted by the orcs. She felt herself cringing in fear and wished at she could only turn back time to what happened just minutes ago.

But as the minutes passed, they only served to remind her of her upcoming fate at the hands of those filthy beings.

It seemed like eternity before they stopped, though the moon was but starting to wane a little, and dawn was still a few hours away.

She was dumped rather roughly onto the rough forest floor, landing none to nicely onto a pile of decayed leaves, and bumping her head onto the hard bark trunk of an oak. The orcs, perhaps ten or so at a glance, swiftly advanced towards her, perverted grins evident on their mutilated faces.

Brianne tried her best to break away, but hit hard against the trunk of the oak, the hit almost sucking all the air out from her lungs. She watched, defeated at one orc shoved the others aside to get to the first, giving them a stare that proclaimed her as his, though she never knew why.

The orc slowly held her by the neck, and ignoring the blood flowing rather freely down from her cut cheek. He leaned forward to kiss her, his foul breath making her turn away in disgust. And in time too. For the next moment, she felt his wet mouth latch onto her neck, not much unlike a leech onto flesh. She squirmed under his firm grasp, as his mouth traveled slowly down her neck to rest at her collarbone, and she nearly passed out from the humiliation and horror it was affording her.

His hands roved down her body, from their previous position at her shoulders, and lingered near the curve of her breasts, before continuing down to her hips; sharp fingernails digging into her soft skin, and making marks on them. Then, reaching behind her, he cupped her butt, and she automatically stiffened, her eyes opened wide in fright. Pushing her closer towards him so that she was crushed against him; his mouth slowly started down her neck, licking the blood from her wound.

Before she would react or simply do _something_ to deter him from continuing, his roving hands had already torn the fragile material of her bodice apart, and exposing her breasts to the cold night air. Eyeing them hungrily, he reached forward, but was stopped by an orc blade to his throat.

"Enough, Guzuk! She's the captain's," the owner of the blade sneered, looking at the orc.

"She's mine. I captured her. Our captain," he spat, "can find his own."

"I look forward to seeing your head on the ground then."

Cursing darkly under his breath, Guzuk reluctantly let go of his captive and followed the other orc towards their fire, while Brianne tried her best to cover herself with what tattered pieces of cloth was left on her, ignoring the looks they gave her.

It seemed that the orcs had planned to stay in the 'clearing' of sorts, much as they detested the sunlight. Then again, the canopy hardly allowed any light through. Sighing, she rested against the solid trunk of the tree and tried to sleep.

_Thorongil, wherever you are… please do hurry._

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Aragorn trained his eyes on the ground, looking for signs of the orcs. And there were signs aplenty. Footprints clearly showed in the damp mud, add various branches hacked away in order to clear the route, and trampled grass, it was not much of task to stay on their track. Though he knew orcs were easy to track, this seemed almost too easy. The route lacked many twists and turns that orcs often used to mislead their hunters, and they often made false paths. But this? He moved the thought away into the back of his mind. They could just be in a great hurry to escape the wrath of the Riders.

After a certain distance, the drag marks stopped; and the orc prints made more spaced out and they had surmised that Brianne had most probably been carried, allowing the orcs to run more quickly.

As they set out in the darkest hour before dawn, and had been able to keep up a constantly fast pace, they reached the orc campsite in two hours, though their horses had been left at the village. The sun was not yet high in the sky, yet they could already feel its soft heat radiating upon their backs, drawing perspiration.

It seemed that the six of them were just an even match for the dozen of orcs, and they would not be easily outmatched. At Aragorn's signal, they burst into the 'clearing', their swords craving for new blood.

There was hardly any need of tactics, if ever, for the orcs, though prepared, were hardly a match for the swift Riders, and all were soon lying dead on the floor. Aragorn quickly went to Brianne, who opened her eyes blearily and looked at him with unfocused eyes.

"Thorongil," she mumbled rather incoherently, "you came."

And she fainted, her body going limp.

Muttering under his breath, he lifted her up out of the leafy pile she was in, covering her with his cloak in a bid to retain her dignity.

"Come on! Let's go!" he shouted to the other Riders milling about the campsite, guarding the perimeter while he tended to Brianne.

As they made their way back whence they came, a growl was heard, and an orc sitting atop a Warg came out from the surrounding bushes. Backing away, they turned around, all swords at ready, and they fanned out into a circle, trying to protect Aragorn and Brianne, for he was unable to hold a sword _and _hold onto her at the same time.

But it seemed that they were too late in getting away.

Other Warg riders came out from the bushes and trees surrounding the 'clearing', their steeds snaring in anticipation of their kill, snouts sniffing eagerly for the scent of the enemy. Their captain seemed to be perched atop the largest one of all, and he strode forwards towards the Riders, his jeering grin triumphant. It was undoubtedly clear that the Riders were grossly outnumbered, and they had no where to run.

"No…" Aragorn whispered as they advanced on the small company.

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A bloodied Rider fled into the village as though the Nazgul were on his tail, startling Eothir and the rest. His sword was missing from its place in either his sheath or hand. His leather tunic ripped by something sharp.

"Ambush. Warg attack. Slaughtered us…" he managed to utter before falling into a dead swoon at Eothir's feet, his breathing shallow.

_Tbc…_

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Note: 

Our dear Brianne is NOT a child. Thengel calls her 'child' because he's much older than her and therefore, regards her as still young. Actually, she's around 22 or so. Thanks to tracey for reminding me to write down this note.

It took Aragorn and gang two hours to reach the campsite. Some of you may think its quite long, but the orcs actually took more than that. For the battles ended say, around 10, and they reached their campsite around 1 am in the morning, considering that dawn is around 5, so it took them 3plus hours. Which was partly due to dragging of Brianne.

Reviews would be a nice early birthday present.


	6. 5: Torment of Mind and Body

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

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–The Eagle of the Star –  
Chapter 5

The sun was shining brightly high up in the sky, yet the Rider was still unconscious. Eothir was already sick with worry about the fates of the other men and pacing unceasingly around the Rider, whose wounds were heavily bandaged. He had seemed to be the only one who had escaped from the slaughter, for no one returned after him, and if Eothir had interpreted him properly.

A scared voice soon roused most of the men from their thoughts and they quickly gathered around him, their eyes filled with expectancy and relief that perhaps he had finally come to.

"No, please! Get away from me! No!"

The Rider's arms came up as if to protect him from an unknown assailant, his eyes open, yet it did not seem to registered the concerned looks of his fellow comrades. Shaking his head, Eothir slowly crouched beside him, and started shaking him as vigorously as possible so as not to further injure him.

"Alignir! Awake! Alignir!"

With a gasp the Rider sprang upright, beads of sweat forming on his face, his fair hair messy. His eyes unclouded as he surveyed his surroundings, even as his chest heaved as he tried to calm down. A hacking cough soon followed and the Rider was bent double as the weight of his injuries caught up with him. Eothir helped in tilting his head up to have some water. It was only after a while that the cough died down, and the Rider relaxed.

"What happened to the others?"

Alignir lowered his head in solitary mourning before raising his head again, eyes shining his unshed tears for the men he knew for a long time. It was a while before he started to talk, his voice clearly indicating that if he had a choice, he would rather not recount the horror.

"We killed the orcs had took the girl away, and Thorongil was carrying her off, and telling us to go, before reinforcement came. But we were too late" –Alignir swallowed –"the warg-riders came, and they surrounded us. It was a trap, and we were outnumbered one to three. We could easily defeat the orcs, but their steeds had seemed to have a mind of their own, and for them, though their riders were killed, they still attacked us. We tried to withstand them, but it was impossible. Our swords were rendered useless against their claws and ferocity. We watched, aghast as Disehal was ripped apart alive, screaming as one hungry warg devoured him, bones crunching under its razor teeth." –the Rider visibly shuddered before continuing –"Thorongil tried to help all of us escape, and distracted the wargs to him and we ran away. But they noticed us, and gave chase. I ran as fast as I could, not looking back for fear of coming face to face with one." Alignir stopped talking.

The Riders all turned and looked expectantly as Eothir made his decisions.

"The least we can do is return their bodies to their families for a decent burial. And find the orcs who killed them. Eight will tarry here, including Alignir, lest any stray orc wander in. The rest will follow me to claim their bodies, and hunt some orc."

The arrangements were quickly made and Eothir set off, with but little over two dozen Riders with him, compared to their numbers when they had left Meduseld.

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Aragorn awoke with a groan, shaking his head in an effort to get rid of the drowsiness that still rested on his lids and mind. He tried to move arms, only to discover that they were chained to shackles above his head, their edges cutting into his exposed wrists. His feet were too, pinned to the wall in another set of shackles near the bottom. A mild shake of them proved that they were held tight against the wall, as were his hands. It seemed pointless to even try to escape, and he decided to save his strength for later.

Looking around, he saw another Rider chained nearby; the interior of the cave too dark for him to make out his face. But it seemed as if someone was missing, and he rummaged through his half-conscious mind for that elusive name.

_Brianne! Where are you?_

Straining his eyes against the dim light, he tried to search for her, yet finding no sign that she was around. Perhaps the orcs had killed her after knocking him cold, perhaps after using her for their own pleasures.

He tried to push away that nagging guilty conscience that rested heavily upon his thoughts. He should have known better than to bring her with them! Sure, she could fight and fend for herself, but still, she was a female, and that alone was a danger for her. He had foolishly thought it was just a raid-and-plunder that the orcs usually did, but it seemed that this company was cleverer than the rest, though they seemed to have no superior to report too. If he had left Brianne at Meduseld, she would be safe and well. Giving himself a swift mental kick to the head, he chastised himself for that fatal mistake. In his haste to help the girl, he had forgotten everything he learned at Rivendell and with the Rangers!

And now another innocent was lost thanks to him.

His self-depreciating thoughts stopped the moment he heard an angry scream that resounded in the cave, bursting into a chorus of echoes. The voice sounded familiar and rather near…

Brianne!

A sigh of relief escaped him as realization came to him that she was alive, though he highly doubted her being 'well'. Unable to look beyond the nook to where he was shackled, yet not wanting to hear any more of the screams, he shouted,

"Leave her alone!"

All was suddenly silent, and too quiet for his comfort. Slowly, the 'thud' of iron shod feet was heard on the rock floor of the cave, and an orc face came into view, its feature seemed forever cemented into that of a leering sneer. The orc's beady eyes surveyed him and his shackles, looking rather pleased that he could do anything to the captive and the latter could not.

A backhanded blow struck Aragorn all of a sudden and his head was whipped to the side; his cheekbone connecting none too gently with solid stone. Red spots appeared in front of his eyes from the hit, and for a brief moment he was rendered unmoving, while his disorientated mind sorted out the events that occurred in that single split second.

The chill of cold metal hit him on the chest, and he dared himself to look at the orc-blade that was poised for the plunge to his heart. It seemed that while he was still recovering from the blow, the orc had found the time to cut open half of his tunic, and decided to finish of his rowdy captive.

The Ranger stared defiantly at the orc; challenge evident in his eyes as he waited for the death blow, trying his best to conquer and conceal the gnawing fear that was growing within him.

The blow never came.

The orc changed his mind, and apparently decided that a quick death was not suitable for someone who spoilt his fun and made him leave his 'treasure'. The blade changed course and proceeded to cut away what was left of his ruined tunic, till it lay in tatters upon the cave floor, and inch below his feet.

He 'stood' bare torso-ed in front of the orc, while the latter received a whip from another. He caught the eye of the Rider, and saw sympathy and concern evident in the Rider's gaze, and gave the Rider a grim smile. It was, to some extent, his will. He had decided to protect Brianne, and thus chosen this.

The pencil-thin whip cracked, and flashed across his skin, its tiny barbs quickly tearing away bits of flesh. At first he had felt nothing, and the pain came a second later, like fire burning under his skin, and smothering every nerve he had. He felt blood ooze from the wound, and looked down, only to see an ugly line of angry red.

The orc brought his face to Aragorn, and Aragorn had to fight from gagging from the foul air he was taking in.

"You don't like it, do you, Rider?" he sneered contemptuously, hatred evident in each word. "I'll teach you what happens to captives who do not cooperate."

The whip was raised again, and slapped repetitively into his body, as Aragorn bit his lip to stop from crying out, drawing more blood.

The loss of the life giving liquid, coupled with the pain that was bursting in his head with each stroke soon made him pass out, his whole body going limp.

Yet the orc did not seem to notice, and the whip cracked on, making Brianne and the other Rider wince in pain each time they heard it.

_Tbc…

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_

Please review! Thanks lots!  
And flames would be welcome to.


	7. 6: Healing and Recovery

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

* * *

–The Eagle of the Star –  
Chapter 6

_He heard raised voices, loud and sometimes coarse. The screams and shouts were so loud his head felt like it was about to explode. He tried to cover his pained ears, to shut out the overwhelming noise but it seemed impossible. He heard the ringing of blades, and thought he was to die. Then, the pressure on his wrists slackens, and he was falling… and hit something hard and uneven. Roughened hands clasped onto him and hoisted him up, and forcing open his eyes, he saw a glimpse of shining brown before all went dark and he felt no more…_

_Then light came back again. He saw blurred concerned faces looking at him, voices that seemed far away to his ears, and foreign; the occasional sting of pain making him hiss softly, and all would become dark for a while again…_

He tried to open his eyes, and felt as though his eyelids were filled with lead. Light shone into his eyes, and blinded him for a while, and he instinctively closed his eyes again. When he next opened them, a stern wizened old face had blocked out the glaring light.

"Am I dead?" he asked, still trying to comprehend what happened in this sleep-fogged mind.

The wizened face relaxed and a smile appeared, followed by a hearty chuckle.

"I'm afraid not, my boy. You're very much alive, in the Healing Houses of Edoras. My name is Hildefir, the chief healer here."

Aragorn tried to sit up from his bed, but only succeeded in getting dizzy, the action making his head ache horribly. With a groan, he lay back down on the bed, deciding to abandon all attempts to get up, but instead stay in the comforting warm of the bed.

"How long have I been here?"

Hildefir cocked his head to one side, in his mind mentally counting the days that he spent nursing the young man to health. The man had just a few hours off from being admitted into the Halls of Mandos when the Riders arrived at the front step, the hooves of their horses thundering loudly in upon the stone pavement. Angry red lacerations and welts marred his torso and blood –deep red in most places –was flowing freely from the newly acquired wounds. There was a wound on his head, but it seemed more accidental than purposeful, though nothing worse than a skin graze that would heal more quickly that his other wounds. A look at his eyes showed that he was wallowing in deep unconsciousness, and it would been some time before he would wake.

Nevertheless, the healer try to mend his wounds as best as he could. The man would sometimes be conscious for a while, half-opened eyes looking into space, unfocused. His hands would sometimes move involuntarily whenever the healer tried to clean the wounds of dirt, and at times, rust and horsehair. It was a challenge, even in his long years of expertise, to stanch the blood flow that seemed to have no end. The younger healers tried their best to help when they rested for a while from attending to the other Riders, and the girl that the Riders had brought. Even with the severity of all their wounds taken into account, they were still decidedly less life-threatening than that of the young man's.

He had barred all –save his healers –from entering the man's room, and kept vigil at his bedside, not daring to give the young man's life to fate anytime soon. He had slept fitfully at night, sometimes not even knowing that he had dozed off until he heard a soft cough or moan. It had been purely good luck that the young man had not developed a fever while recovering from his wounds, though occasionally the old healer would hear the man utter _Arwen! Arwen! _as he tossed and turned in nightmarish sleep.

A cough broke Hildefir from his thoughts, and he turned to see the young man glancing at him expectantly. Faintly remembering that he had been asked a question, he searched his memory for even the slightest semblance of it, and was not really surprised to know that it had been forgotten in such a short time.

"What did you ask again, young man? An elderly like me has a memory that's too, growing old, and cannot remember things for long now."

The young man smiled, his smile knowing and sympathising. "How long have I been here?" the question was being repeated, yet contained no hint of irritation nor annoyance, but patience that the healer hardly saw in the younger generation these days.

"Five days or so, perhaps. It is the 24th of August, and nine in the morning. Pray tell me your name?"

Aragorn opened his mouth, and his true name was almost uttered, before he realised he was under guise. "My name is Thorongil, sir."

The healer stared at him, piercing blue eyes fixed onto the young man as images of a silver star came into his mind, and of the tales he had heard long ago as a child after dinner as his family had crowded around the fireplace. Tales of the forgotten men of Numenor, and their descendants, of the Heir of Isildur that dwelled in the house of Elrond where no mortal ever went.

Perhaps this was just a coincidence, nothing more.

Standing up abruptly, he told Aragorn that another would be along soon to serve him his breakfast and bade the young man farewell for but a while before leaving the room.

_Tbc…_

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Please read and review!

All right, another chapter done. Though it's just mindless talking and not much development. Anyway, I probably would not be updating for the next week or so since I'm going to be out of the country and my mum would most likely keep me away from anything that has an internet connection. X) so namarie for a while!

Shameless ad plugging: if you have the time, go read my other stories! Hannon!


	8. 7: Questions and Some Answers

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

* * *

–The Eagle of the Star –  
Chapter 7

It was only a few days later that Hildefir was satisfied with Aragorn's health enough to allow him outside the walls of the Healing Houses. Still, as the Ranger made his way out into the bright sunlight for the first time in nine days the Healer started muttering to himself whether he had deemed the Ranger to be strong enough too quickly. Holding back a grin, Aragorn gave him an amused look, and a promise not to exert himself too much, before walking out into the gardens that surrounded the Houses.

Hildefir had leaned against the doorframe, mostly out of lethargy after having attended to the Ranger without much rest for the past few days. Shaking his head at the young man's refusal to listen to him, he went back inside the house, his mind still wondering about the riddle of the man's ancestry. Eothir had told him that Thorongil had not wanted to disclose anything about him but his name, and refused to say anything about himself save that he was neither spy nor thrall of Sauron. The Marshal had also told him the events that had led to Thorongil's injuries, and the Healer had to admit he was impressed by the young man's courage, and his lack of hesitation in helping someone he had barely known. However, the old Healer sensed that the man was not who he seemed to be, and was hiding something from them.

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Aragorn tread barefooted on the soft dew-covered grass of the garden, happily inhaling the fresh air and listening to the gay chirping of the birds. The events that caused his injuries seemed nothing but a bad dream, the only residue of it left were the scars that stayed on his body, and refused to go. But even so, they served as a lesson to go against his impulse, and he had only the Valar to thank for the fact that Brianne had not been severely injured nor killed, though he still grieved for the three Riders who had given their life in the hunt.

The heady scent of the flowers washed away any thoughts of the 'outing' as he took in another breath, and a sharp pang hit his heart as he recalled the lovely gardens of Rivendell.

Those lush gardens had been his sanctuary for as long as he could remember, and often served as his retreat from reality or when he needed to rest his mind for a while. The greenery of them had relaxed his mind, and resting in the small space among the bushes that he had discovered as a child, he had always managed to find a piece of mind. A small smile appeared on his face as he remembered occasionally being lulled to sleep by the rushing of the waterfall nearby, before waking up near dusk and making a quick race back to his room to change for dinner. Though his family seemed to take no notice of his disheveled appearance on such occasions, he could deduce from the twins amused looks and Elrond's subtle raising of an eyebrow that they had fully known his whereabouts.

The gardens had a special place in his heart, though not completely for those reasons.

_Arwen._

His smile widened as he recalled the day he met Arwen in the gardens. It seemed as though she was a heavenly vision that his tired mind that conjured up while he had to digest the surprise of the day before. He had fallen over his feet in trying to make an impression on her, and thinking back on it, he looked like an utter lovesick fool. A sigh escaped his lips as he wondered where she was now. Would she still be in Rivendell, or had she returned to Lorien? Was she already married? It was six years since he said farewell to her in the stables of Rivendell, yet it seemed almost an age ago. When Hildefir had casually mentioned that he had been uttering Arwen's name in his sleep, the Ranger had refused to meet the healer's inquiring eyes, and silently berated himself for saying her name, though he probably could not have avoided it in his delirium.

A tap on the shoulder startled him and drove the thoughts of Rivendell away. He turned around to find Brianne looking at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and immediately winced internally at the harsh tone of his voice. He did not mean it to sound like that, but perhaps the shock of been 'crept upon' added to that.

"Um, well, I was bored sitting in my room at all and had nothing to do, so I decided to come to the gardens for a short walk, and saw you standing there like a statue, and looking into space. Anyway, I need someone to talk too, it has been so awfully quiet around here since the Riders left, so…" she trailed off, and looked at him, her eyes apologetic and her face pleading. "Sorry about scaring you like that. I promise I will never do it again. Please don't look so angry," she said as an afterthought.

Aragorn felt his face soften instantly, and let out the breath he had been holding all this while without realising it.

"Nay, I'm not angry with you, just merely… surprised. That's all. And besides, I probably exerted myself when you startled me, which probably broke my promise to Hildefir to take it easy," he said, adding the last part with a lopsided grin.

"That old man? He had been asking Eothir and the rest of the Riders about you: where you came from, your family and all that, and was rather surprised that none knew. He sure made everyone curious about your history, Thorongil, including me."

"He did?" the words issued from his mouth before he could stop them, then a moment later, "you are?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Well," Brianne started, "I know not how to put this, but nobody since to know who exactly you are, save your name and allegiance. You are sort of a mystery to all of us, you know? And we do not really like enigmas."

"I see. All right then, ask me what questions you have, and I will tell you what I can."

"You are not joking with me, are you, Thorongil?"

"Why should I?"

Brianne pretended to ponder about what to ask the Ranger, even though her questions were ready to shoot out of her mouth quicker than the Elven arrows. Aragorn looked at her expectantly, his answers quite formulated in his mind as they walked in the garden towards the wooden bench underneath an old oak.

"Tell me about your family," she asked once they sat on the bench.

"I guess I have no real family, save my foster family. My father died when I was but a baby. A kind man took my mother and me in soon after, and I lived in his house till I came of age, and decided to explore the earth." Brianne opened her mouth to ask him another question, but closed it when she saw that he was about to continue.

"If you are wondering, the only siblings I had were my foster father's. His sons taught me how to fight, and hunt, among other things, and usually played jokes on any visiting friends or kin."

"Sounds like my brothers…" Brianne started to say before trailing off, as a fresh wave of grief hit her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she recounted the fun times they had together as children through teenhood, and choked down a sob as she faced the fact for the hundredth time that she would never see them again.

"I miss them, Thorongil… so much," she managed to say as tears clouded her vision and made the whole world a total blur.

She felt his arm wrap around her shoulder as Aragorn comforted her as best as he could. "I know how it feels. I lost many whom I loved, and felt like brothers to me. It is all right to miss them sometimes, for their loss is a sad thing. But sometimes, we have to look at the future, and if possible, carry on what they have started."

Brianne stared at him with curious eyes, for it seemed that the man was talking more to himself than to her. "What?"

"Nothing," Aragorn quickly said, realising that he had spoken his thought out loud. "It is getting late, how about going back into the house? Come on."

With that, he got up and strode back towards the Healing Houses, not noticing the inquiring look on Brianne's tear-streaked face. She wondered at his words, for it was still barely past midday, and the sun was still high in the sky.

_Tbc…_

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Notes:

-Hildefir is not a bad guy, he's just curious about everyone, especially now that he's old.  
-The people Aragorn said he lost were his fellow Rangers. Before he entered Rohan, he served with the Dunedain to help protect the western lands, and his friends could have perished in random frays.  
- And no, this is NOT going to turn into an Aragorn/OC fic. They're just friends. Sort of.

Oh, and Please Review!


	9. 8: Birthdays!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

Thanks to all who reviewed!

Sorry about taking so long, was too caught up in watching Extended Edition. Oh, and this chapter is kinda 'anti-climax' to some extent.

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–The Eagle of the Star –  
Chapter 8

(Rivendell)

The fresh breeze entered the study, blowing out the curtains and ruffling the papers that lay on Elrond's desk. Even as he tried to concentrate on the various reports of orc movement in the Mountains and Eriador, his mind were elsewhere entirely.

It was March the First, and it was Estel's birthday. Yet, there was no cheer in the House of Elrond whatsoever, as like the past few years. The mortal everyone had come to adore was still in the Wild, and they knew that he would be abroad for yet a while more. Though the seven years since he left meant nothing to the Elves, they knew it was only a matter of time before Sauron rose to power again, and the Heir of Isildur had to fight.

Estel had left the Rangers for two years already, and yet, there still seemed no sign of his whereabouts. Halbarad had informed him of his departure the morning they discovered that he left, sending a messenger direct to Rivendell. They had searched for the next few weeks for any trace of him, and even the twins lent a helping hand. Yet, it seemed that they taught Estel too well, for the scouts might have been searching for an elf instead. The only trace was a short handwritten note from him, a short and puzzling sentence that simply said that he was 'needed elsewhere'.

Much as Elrond hoped for a note or letter from his foster-son soon, it never came. And as the days passed his hope grew less, and his fear more. If Estel perished, who would lead the army of Men towards their final battle? Who would take up the crown of Gondor? The line of Isildur would fade into mist and legend, and soon the shadow would conquer. Perhaps he had made an unwise decision the day he had told Estel of his doom, one that would turn into folly.

_Estel is alive, Elrond of Rivendell._

As much as he prepared himself for Galadriel's 'interruptions' when he had least expected it; they still managed to startle him somewhat to hear another voice resounding in his mind.

How do you know that? 

_You forget. I have eyes and ears far and wide; besides, he passed the borders close to Lorien not two years ago._

_Whence did he go?_ The question was asked soundlessly a moment before a vision of a band of Horsemen appeared in front of him, proudly carrying a banner of a white horse running swiftly upon the grass.

"Calenardhon," he murmured softly. "But what is he doing there?"

_The Rangers do not need him for a time for they still have strength in numbers. Halbarad will be able to lead them almost as well as Estel. Have you forgotten that he was their Captain before Estel came of age? But Kingdom of Men will need his advice, and aid in the years to come. As of now, he is serving Thengel of Rohan, and ride with the Rohirrim._

An image of the White City came unbidden to Elrond's mind, and he saw Estel in deep counsel with the steward, and of Corsairs prowling the shores before the vision faded.

"He will go to Gondor soon, and still under guise."

_Yes. And after that, his fate will be decided._

------------------------------

(Rohan)

Aragorn smoked his pipe as he stared out of the window of his chamber in silent contemplation. As of today, he would be a year older.

_And, a year closer to his fate._

The thought did nothing to soothe his worries that had slowly built up over the past seven months.

After Hildefir had grudgingly admitted that he was fit to go, life had somewhat returned to normal. His wounds had healed over the next few weeks after he was 'discharged', and all that was left as a reminder was a faint scar.

Brianne had returned to her rebuilt village after three months, determined to live out her life as best as could be. The people had almost fully recovered from the ordeal, especially the women and children. The men had become fewer as of the raid, and most were lucky to survive their critical wounds. The only kin she had left was her mother and one of her brothers, whose arm was cruelly severed. The Riders had bade her goodbye, even as she thanked them for their help. She was welcome to Edoras anytime, they had told her, and she nodded, eyes filled with tears of gratitude. After wishing her well, they rode away. The last time they saw her, she was standing against the sun, one arm raised in farewell, as the other villagers crowded around her to see them off.

The Riders resumed their weekly 'practice', and went about the country from time to time, making sure that the people were safe. However, there seemed to be hardly any orc-spies in the country. The patrols they usually made, and the reports from the watchguards around the vicinity proved that the orcs had truly disappeared… for a while.

But there was still a nagging thought embedded in his mind. Orcs rarely had a mind of their own, and the band that they had killed those months ago showed some signs of independent thinking. Could it be that they were of another breed, and perhaps had another master?

_Then again, perhaps, it is nothing,_ he thought, and flicked the worry away.

A small smile appeared on his face as he fondly remembered his birthdays in Rivendell. There would always to merry-making, and he would be showered with presents, and of course, subjected to pranks from the twins. Though as the years went by, he learnt to figure out those that were actually real, and those that led to a trap of some sort. As a boy, he had once wished on that day that he would be able to live in Rivendell till his death, and forget about the world outside. But it seemed that all his wishes came true except this.

It was, perhaps, the seventh year that he had spent it alone. The Rangers were usually on duty, and all had little time to even celebrate their getting a year older, and truth to be told, most had loathed the thought of being a year older.

------------------------------

As the days towards his 'special day' (as he continually insisted) came closer, Théoden started reminding everyone and anyone in Meduseld of it, and ceaselessly asked the Riders of their present to him, to which Eothir put on a straight face and a regretful voice before saying, "Nothing yet." The move never failed to cause the young Prince to walk away sadly. However, they had _indeed_ gotten something for him.

**---Flashback---**

The Rohirrim had gathered in Eothir's house to discuss the subject, since there were no orcs to slay and their patrols were done for the day.

"All right men, what should we get for our Prince?"

Various suggestions were soon pelted unto Eothir's ears.

"A small sword!" "A shield!" "A small Rider helm." "A horse!"

Each suggestion was met with a considering frown from Eothir, before he finally spoke again, "I guess we can give him a horse…"

"A newborn one perhaps. They can grow old together." The Rider grinned as guffaws rose from the rest.

"Aye, Captain, didn't one of your mares give birth last month?"

Eothir nodded. "She did, but the foal is still too young to bear him, and I doubt King Thengel will allow his son to learn how _exactly_ to ride a horse."

"Will he if the lesson was part of the gift?" Aragorn spoke, and the Riders turned to look at him, well, rather _glare_ at him. Showing his palm, the Ranger quickly took back his suggestion, "All right ! All right! Maybe not."

He watched in some measure of surprise as the glares turned into grins, as several Riders slapped him on his back.

"Great idea!" "We've finally got you!"

Eothir looked at him, and shrugged his shoulders at the latter's accusing stare, "It is settled then."

**---End Flashback---**

It was decided that they would give the Prince lessons on another pony, till the foal was broken in, and strong enough to carry a rider's weight.

Slowly, the days passed till it was but a dozen days or so till that day. Everyone hoped for the best on all the days leading to the 'finale', but it seemed that the Valar were against that, or rather, the orcs…

_Tbc…_

* * *

Note:  
-I know that Elrond has the power of foresight blahblahblah, but let's pretend for a moment that he has lost it shall we?  
-Calenardhon: name for Rohan when it was under Gondor.  
-There's no use of Elvish here cause I'm really, really bad at the language. Forgive me.  
-It's the year 2958 now, in case you were wondering.

Please do review!  
Merry X'mas (and happy holidays...)


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